M Sellars: Love Is The Bond

“If I’m going to maintain that reputation, then I have to keep up on new techniques now, don’t I?”

“Quit dancing around it. You specifically took certification courses on crime scene photography.”

“Fine,” she spat. “Yes. I took classes on forensic, crime scene, and evidence photography to be exact. And, yes, I’m certified now.”

“Why?”

“Because I passed the final exam.”

“You know what I mean.”

“Because it’s an aspect of the business I wasn’t familiar with.”

“And it doesn’t have anything to do with Ben mentioning the freelance consultant program for the police department?”

She tried to sidestep the question. “You were sitting right there when he asked me if I was interested, and you didn’t object then.”

“No, I didn’t.” I gave a slight nod. “But, that was what? Seven, maybe eight months ago? As I recall, you said you were going to think about it.”

“Aye, I did think about it,” she shot back. She fixed her jade-green eyes on me and arched her eyebrow, daring me to challenge her response.

“And, apparently you came to a decision,” I said with a half-hearted shrug.

“Aye, that I did.”

“And now you’ve taken these classes, which tells me your decision is that you’re going to sign up for the consultant gig.”

She nodded. “Probably.”

“Probably?”

“Okay then. Yes. I am.”

“Felicity, it’s not like we need the money. Between my business and yours, we’re in great shape. The house is paid for, our investments are stable, we’ve…”

She didn’t let me finish. “Money isn’t the point, Row. It’s something I want to do.”

“You WANT to take pictures of dead bodies? Victims of violent murders? Suicides?” I asked with more than a note of incredulity in my voice.

“It’s not likely to even come to that,” she explained. “The freelance program is for specialized photographic techniques that the regular crime scene unit doesn’t do. Infrared, ultraviolet, painting with light, and that sort of thing. Primarily for evidence.”

“So you would never be photographing dead bodies?”

“Well, maybe not never.” She shrugged. “I suppose it all depends on what they need then.”

“Well, don’t you think you should give this a little more thought?”

“Why?”

“Maybe because when you look through a camera lens, you see things most people don’t.”

“Then I should be pretty good at it, shouldn’t I.” She was telling, not asking.

“Probably too good. That’s what I mean… Think about who you are for a minute.”

“Who I am? What do you mean by that?”

“Come on, you’re a Witch.”

“So are you. What’s that got to do with anything?”

“Gods, Felicity!” I exclaimed. “Are you trying to tell me the last few years have only been my imagination? Because if you are, I’m not buying it.”

“You’re the one who carries on conversations with the dead, Row, not me.”

“Excuse me?” It was my turn to raise an eyebrow. “What do you think I meant about looking through a camera? Besides, have you forgotten your last little brush with the ethereal?”

“That was different.”

“Really? Do tell.”

“Kimberly was my friend. We had a connection. And, besides, that was more than two years ago.”

“Twenty-five months, today,” I offered. “And don’t tell me you didn’t know that. The two year anniversary was marked on your friggin’ calendar. That’s how I knew.”

“What were you doing looking at my calendar?” she barked.

“Checking to see if you were free so I could surprise you with a night out,” I shot back. “You know, dinner. Symphony. Maybe even a hotel room just to be different…”

She closed her eyes and gave her head a quick shake. “I’m sorry. I was out of line.”

“You were evading the subject is what you were doing,” I replied.

“Yes, well, Kimberly’s death has nothing to do with this.”

“Yeah… Right…” I nodded as I paused, then fixed her with a serious stare. “You know, I thought the same thing after the first time it happened to me… Ariel Tanner was my friend, and I figured that pretty much had to be the reason for all the ethereal bullshit I was dealing with… I spent a lot of time trying to convince myself of that… You know that… But then… Well, we both know how that worked out, don’t we?”

Her gaze softened a bit. I could tell by the look on her face that my reference had hit home. The first homicide case I’d ever been dragged into by the spirit of the victim had affected her as well. Ariel had been my student of The Craft as well as a good friend to both of us. And, unfortunately, she was but one of a series of victims who were brutally tortured and murdered by a serial killer bent on a misguided quest that I still didn’t understand. I didn’t know that I ever would, but it haunted me on a daily basis, and that was bad enough.

Finding and stopping her killer hadn’t really brought me the peace I so desperately sought. In fact, it seemed more as if it had created a permanent connection between the other side of the veil and me, and ever since then the voices of the dead had become a constant din in my ears.

A few years later when Felicity’s friend, Kimberly Forest, was murdered, my wife ventured down that very same path with the same devastating results. I knew it was taking a toll, even now after all this time.

“Aye, but even you haven’t had anything major happen since Kimberly either,” Felicity countered. “Maybe it’s over, Rowan. Maybe we can finally get back to a normal life.”

I closed my eyes then reached up and pinched the bridge of my nose between my thumb and forefinger. I could feel a headache coming on. It was hovering directly between my eyes, but unlike some of the ethereally induced pains I’d faced over the years, I was pretty sure this one could be easily addressed with a fistful of aspirin. At least I hoped it could.

“I wish I could believe that, honey,” I finally muttered. “But, I still hear them.”

“But…”

I didn’t let her finish. “Felicity… Sweetheart… It’s been a nice reprieve, but I think we both know this is probably just the calm before the storm.”

“Aye, maybe so,” she muttered. “But I’m still going to do this.”

“Why?” I pressed.

“Because I want to, then.”

“Okay, but why? Why do you want to?”

“Because I find it interesting,” she stated with an unconvincing shrug, once again trying to sidestep the issue. She turned her back to me and picked up a wide-toothed comb from her dressing table. Gathering a handful of her hair, she began intently working at detangling a section.

I watched her for a moment, silently mulling over my impending choice of words. I had been exactly where she was now, and I understood far better how she felt than anyone else possibly could. What I was about to say to her was something she had said to me more than once, and I didn’t want to come off as if I were feeding her own words back to her-even though that was exactly what I was about to do. After a measured beat I responded. “Because you find it interesting, or because you have something to prove?”

“What would I have to prove, then?” she asked, shifting her gaze slightly to look at my reflection in the mirror.

I took in a breath and with my words laid open the wound. “Maybe you feel guilty because you couldn’t save Kimberly Forest.”

She wheeled back around to face me and thrust the comb in my direction. “Don’t…” The word caught in her throat, and I thought I could hear her voice crack slightly. “Don’t… Just don’t go there.”